Page 7 of Obsession

The chair creaks beneath his weight as he sits back and drags his fingers through his short beard. It rasps. I try not to squeeze my thighs together beneath the table. “Do you suggestyouresemble my mother?”

“You tell me, Hammond?”

His tongue darts out and swipes across his bottom lip. It takes him a long time to answer, but two can play this game, so I wait him out. I’m not entirely sure why he specifically requested me, only to try to unnerve me. But I won’t be that inexperiencedyoung reporter who runs away. I’ll stick it out. We have an officer overseeing this interview. I’m safe.

“You’re too meek to resemble my mother.”

“Meek?” I don’t like that I find his opinion insulting. “How am I too meek?”

“The moment I set foot in here, you shivered like a leaf in the wind. You’re barely able to hold eye contact without a blush creeping up your neck, and your thumb is bleeding where you’ve picked at the nail bed.”

On cue, I look down. Sure enough, there’s blood on my thumb. I lift it to my lips and suck it clean. Robbie tracks my every movement.

“I’m not always meek,” I argue, lowering my trembling hand to my lap. “I can be assertive.”

His lips twitch again, and then he sits forward, puts his elbows on the table, and answers my question from earlier. “My father was never home to notice the padlocks. And the few times he did bother to show up, he was too drunk. He’d stumble into the trailer and not even notice me locked inside the dog crate on the floor.”

My eyes widen with horror. “She locked you inside a dog crate?”

Robbie’s smirk is nowhere in sight. His jaw hardens and he looks back out the window. I follow his line of sight, watching the trees beyond the prison perimeters sway in the wind.

“Did you know,” he starts, his voice thick with emotion, “that I haven’t felt the sun on my skin for over ten years?”

Frowning, I snap my gaze away from the window. “They let you out for daily exercise, right?”

“They do,” he confirms, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he continues staring through the window. “But the sun never reaches there. My recreational space is on the other side of the prison. It’s always in the shade.”

Something that feels like lead settles in the pit of my stomach. “I have a question for you.” I recognize that what I’m about to ask is a question I should leave for later, but I want to know.

“Go on.”

Now it’s my turn to sit forward and rest my elbows on the table. We’re too close. I almost expect the officer to tell me to keep my distance, but he stays silent. “Do you feel like this is a suitable punishment for your actions?”

“You’re eager,” he replies with a small smile that somehow manages to be all sex.

Heat sinks to my clit in response when he flicks his eyes to my lips. A voice in my head screams,“He’s a killer. Don’t fall for his charms. This is how the other women got lured to their deaths.”

“What do you think, ma’am? Does a man who’s committed horrific acts deserve the death penalty?”

Without taking my eyes off his mouth, I reply, “Who said anything about the death penalty? I was talking about the sun.”

Those sinful lips slowly spread into a full smile, showcasing his white teeth and drawing my attention to the sharp tip of his incisors. Something about them makes me tingle in forbidden places. They look like it would hurt if they bit into my skin. “You like to outsmart.”

I skate my eyes up to his. “So do you.”

He’s amused by me. “Tell me more, ma’am.”

Feeling strangely smug, I sink my teeth into my lip to stop a smile from forming. Then I shrug and straighten up. “You’re a serial killer, Robbie. You learned from an early age to outsmart.”

When he says nothing, I add, “To camouflage yourself.” Chewing on my lip in thought while regarding him, I ask, “Did you feel like you were different from others from an early age?”

“Bog standard question. I’m disappointed.”

My lip escapes its confinement, and I smile big despite my best attempts to stay professional. “I have to keep my boss happy. Ask the questions the masses want answers to.”

“We wouldn’t want to disappoint the masses now, would we?”

“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “We don’t.”